There is nothing different about me from the rest of my clanspeople. Mishka is the one who is special. Long the holder of my heart, she is as different from the clan as night is from day. She has not the simmering scales the color of the sun, but rather the smooth flesh from the moon, which not only reflects light, but captures it and makes it into a sparkling aura of color. And her raven hair is streaked with silver that mirrors the night sky when the stars cry their sorrows.

As I carry her through the morning light, all the earth awakens and shakes away the drowsiness. She stirs in my arms yet does not speak. That is her way: to silently observe and drink in her surroundings like a curious child. I suppose she really is a child, because most of her life she was pampered as the Child of the Prophecy, which predicted the coming of a child of the Night Sky. We Mapiya are children of the Day, and Mishka is destined to guide the clan into greatness.

Or she was, until she decided to love an outsider, a human.